Inheritances
by Hestia01
Summary: Harry Dresden is killed in the line of duty. He leaves behind his final wishes with a trusted friend, hoping she'll carry them out
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Dresden Files or its characters. If I did, it wouldn't have gotten canceled and would still be widely enjoyed to this day. However, TV is temporary, fanfiction is forever! I haven't gotten around to reading the books yet so this is straight from the show. I hope I don't make any horrible mistakes unawares. **

Lieutenant Murphy slogs away from the gory scene, leaving others to take care of things from here. A strange group of people just arrived on the scene and sent her on her way, and she's in no mood to argue. Shock chills her as she starts her car, somehow she finds her way home despite the horror she'd just witnessed. Harry Dresden, her unorthodox consultant, her friend...torn apart by that savage creature. The truth still hasn't fully sunk in yet. She puts her key in the front door and steps inside. Grief will come later. Now, she has things she must do. Final requests.

She goes to a desk drawer, opens a shoebox where she keeps her important documents and information. She sorts through it until she finds a garishly pink envelope, its color thoroughly mocking its grim purpose.

_Six months ago-_

_Harry Dresden handed her the envelope, explaining it contained instructions on what he wants done in the event of his death. "Oookay, why's it pink?" Murphy asked._

"_Harder to lose, don't you think? Listen, this is very important. If anything happens to me, just do what this says. Promise me."_

"_I promise."_

She slits the envelope open and pulls out the paper and is somewhat confused by what she reads. It directs her to go to his office in town, emphasizing that she must do this immediately. Murphy rubs her eyes, reading the next few lines. All of his equipment and books were bequeathed to her, not because she'd actually need or have any use for them, but because he couldn't think of anyone else who would take them. Reading that part brought home just how alone in the world Harry Dresden really was. She was his only beneficiary.

The next part, obviously more important, is written in red in a firm, bold hand. In addition to his personal effects, with a side note to suggest he didn't care terribly much what happened to most of them, she'd also inherited...a skull? That ghastly-looking thing he kept on his kitchen counter? But she knows better than to dismiss it, it's clearly demanded that on no uncertain terms she must take this item and...give it a good home? Farther down are instructions pertaining how exactly she is to take it from the office. Skimming it curiously with a raised eyebrow, she sighs, pulls her coat back on, and gets back in the car.

Murphy finds the wizard's home/office open, not like it had been broken into, just as though he'd forgotten to lock up as he left earlier that day. She turns on a lamp near the sofa and shuts the door behind her. There it is, sitting on the table, grinning at her and covered in strange symbols. She shudders. Why he'd keep such a grisly thing there, and why he wanted her to have it so badly, make no sense at all.

_At this point, what happens to the rest of my stuff isn't important, but you _have_ to take the skull. Don't just snatch it and leave, either. This is Bob, and he's all I've had in the world since I was a kid. Put your hand on it, let him know you're there, get a good feel for you. When you summon him, be nice! I cannot stress this enough. You will be kind to him, understand? He's going to be very upset when he finds out I'm dead, and you need to be the calm one. Here's how you do it..._

"Hrothbert of...Bainbridge? I summon you."

There's an orange sparkle of flame and a pillar of black smoke floating out of the eye socket. When it materializes into human form, Murphy screams, pulling her gun on him.

Bob screams, jumping back in alarm, passing through the counter

Murphy screams louder, stumbling backwards to get away.

"Who are you? What are you doing here? How did you summon me like that? Where's Harry? Where's Harry Dresden?" Bob demands, one question right after the other. Far from being the calm one, Murphy is stunned speechless, still pointing wildly at him, hyperventilating. "Oh god..." he gasps, "No, no, no! You can't have summoned me, it's impossible! Only my master could ever summon me." But it's true, he'd felt that irresistible pull that comes from a direct command. A command that only his master could give. _No..._

Murphy chooses that time to faint. Despite the numerous centuries he'd spent being utterly intangible, Bob had to stop himself from instinctively trying to catch her. She hits the floor with a loud clunk and Bob peers down at her prone form. _She's actually quite lovely,_ he allows, _when she isn't screaming her head off. _ He unconsciously chalks her up against his list of female conquests in his day, and finds her equal to most of them. She's not moving, Bob grows concerned that the shock at being confronted with a 1,000 year old dead Englishman was more than the lady's poor nerves could take. He stoops down over her and whisks a hand through her face, effectively splashing cold water on her to revive her. Her eyes fly open in alarm.

"You fainted, and..." he gives her head an inward glance, "it looks like you're bruised but otherwise unharmed. Don't sit up until the room stops spinning, and then slowly," he advises her kindly.

Taking several deep, steadying breaths, she lets her brain "reload" before trying to process anything new. After about a minute, she remembers his questions. "I'm Connie Murphy, I'm a friend of Harry's," she begins, choosing to answer his questions in turn. "I was told to come here, Harry left me a letter. It also said that I'm to have...have, uh, that thing..." she trails off in distaste, looking behind him at the skull on the table. "...and that I need to give it a good home." Again the instructions loom before her eyes _Be kind, he's going to be very upset. _"Are you Bob?"

"I am Hrothbert of Bainbridge, but..." he sighs, not liking this sudden shift in ownership at all. It's true, he can feel the change, he belongs to this woman now. "You may call me Bob. That's what Harry called me." Each connection is different in its own way. He thinks back to the most recent ones: Justin Morningway's felt like cold steel, a choke chain on an abused mongrel. Harry's...was firm yet supple, like well-oiled leather. He may have been restrained, but never felt strangled by it. Murphy...he ponders what she feels like, when her voice interrupts his thoughts.

"You really knew Harry, then?" Murphy starts sitting up, slowly as suggested. She reaches for his hand to help her up, but he backs away. The gesture annoys him, seems to mock his inability to touch. Instead, she grasps the leg of the table and steadies herself that way.

The ghost snorts grumpily, looking at the ceiling. "Knew him? Yes, Miss Murphy, I'd say I knew him. I practically raised him. He'd known me nearly all his life." Then he turns his glass-green eyes to her, she's suddenly struck by how sad they look, how human.. "He's..." his mouth moves but no sound comes out as he processes what must have happened. "My Harry's dead, isn't he?"

Murphy nods sadly, covering her mouth, finally letting the fact sink in and cries, strangely relieved to share her grief with someone.

"Badly?"

Again, she nods, raspily adding "But bravely." The situation is feeling less and less strange, as though she, too, can feel the bond with the ghost.

"Yes, of course. I can be glad of that, at least. How I loved him," he softly admits, the words coming out on their own as the tears come. He sniffs deeply, pulling a handkerchief from his breast pocket. The pain doesn't come instantly, it creeps in slowly, twisting its way into his heart. He cringes, sets his teeth against it, wishing he could simply will it away.

Murphy cocks her head strangely, she hadn't thought ghosts _could_ love...or cry. He's obviously trying not to, making every attempt to swallow it down and look unaffected, but he ultimately fails. The tears won't stop, his illusion of breath quivers with shaky hiccups. He can't even keep his voice level.

"He'll have gone on, I'm sure. Gone on and...left me. Dammit, pull yourself together!" He commands himself frustratedly, shaking with increasing sobs. "He's...not the first...and he...won't be the last. I ask you, good woman, if this kind of thing happened to you for a thousand years, don't you think you'd get used to it in time?"

"Maybe it's not the kind of thing people _can_ get used to," she suggests wisely. "I bet it would be hard to be with someone for that long and then lose them."

"Not all of them. One in particular was a monster, and good riddance," he spits venomously. "Harry was...dammit! _Was_...my friend, and my love."

Murphy listens; it's always helpful, when grieving, to know that others are suffering the same loss. They simply cry together, both of them able to fully process their loss, glad that they at least have this much in common.

"We'd only just told each other how we feel," Bob laments. "We thought we'd have _years_ together. Even if we couldn't be physical with each other, just to be with him, to be near him. He's such a rare breed."

"Tell me about it," Murphy agrees, reaching for her new ghost's hand and stopping herself in time.

The first wave of his crying fit is waning, he knows he only has a small pocket of calm before wave two sets in.

"Best to avoid going through me, I've heard the sensation is unpleasant," Bob advises, remembering how it always gave Harry the heebie-jeebies. To prove his point, he draws his finger through the back of her hand and she shudders. He sniffles again. "I'll never see him again. Ever. What am I going to do? I suppose in time we'll get on just fine, but you don't require anything I could do in this state, and I refuse to be reduced to functioning as a freak show."

"What can you do?" Murphy asks. "What do you enjoy?"

Bob stares off into space. "Nothing," he replies. He can't think of any activity that's left to him that would have any meaning or pleasure, not without Harry to help him or at least tease him about it. He thinks idly of his connection with Murphy; it feels fluid, somehow, as though it's forged with their shared tears. He suspects it will be more tangible once she's truly taken ownership, made some sign that she accepted her place as his new master.

Then he looks suddenly aware of how dismal he sounds, bordering on rude. "Well, it's not much, not compared to what I once was capable of, but...I can still do a little bit of magic." As a demonstration, he draws an intricate series of strange symbols in the air. Then he angrily wipes his hand through them, realizing that they mean nothing to his new master. _Pity, too. Harry would have-_ he breaks off the thought at the stab of pain.

"That was beautiful," Murphy breathes, staring, unable to believe her eyes. "How did you do that? What did it mean?"

Unable to explain it in short order, "A formula, for an incantation. A spell," he clarifies, still noting her perplexed expression. "Magic. Despite anything I may have suggested, I always found Harry to be a very gifted and promising wizard. As good as most others I've been entrusted to, and better than a good deal of them. Still, he has his mother's weakness for ordinary humans, 'civilians'. His compassion for them didn't do him any favors with those higher up the ladder. Nor did his interesting difficulty with authority." Murphy listens, enthralled. All those secrets and lies, that whole other world that Harry Dresden seemed to belong to. All of the things he'd hinted at and tried to tell her...could it all be true?

Talking about him like this makes Bob half-expect him to come in from the lab or through the front door. It's keeping him in the present tense. That won't do. _If we're going to move on, we must begin now. _Quickly, he changes the subject. "I suppose, since you obviously don't need a lab assistant or lore-master, I could be your social secretary,"

Murphy gives a short, incredulous laugh. "Social secretary?"

"Strange job for a retired sorcerer, I know, but I could help you keep track of your engagements and personal affairs." To show this, he writes up a rough example of a daily schedule in shimmering gold, surprised to see the admiring look she's now giving him. He'd always drawn in women with his magic when he was alive, but never had he impressed someone with such a simple trick. Odd that such a weak display of magic would please her so. She really has no idea. If only he could show her what real power looks like. Strangely, he finds himself smiling back at her, in spite of all things he feels the beginnings of friendship with the police officer.

"What were the others like? Were all of your..._people _wizards?" She purposely avoids the word 'master', she certainly doesn't want the word to apply to her. It would make Bob's position sound too...humiliating.

"I've been bought, sold, traded, wagered, stolen, kicked into a river, dragged out and put on display, kept as a family heirloom, owned and commanded by wizards and civilians alike," Bob answers in a surly litany.

"Civilian...haven't been called that in a while."

It takes him a second to realize, then he backpedals with a sharp sigh. "I mean no disrespect. To be a member of the constabulary is a noble profession, I'm sure. But to answer you honestly, I've most often found myself with a wizard of some form or other. Professionals, dabblers, white and black. It might be a good time for a change. I don't think I can be around magic right now, it would only remind me of him." He sinks down into melancholy again.

Murphy had been wondering when the conversation would turn back to their deceased friend. "I'm not going to try to take his place," she promises. "No one can do that."

Nodding in appreciation, the dead necromancer finds himself reaching for her hand...and stopping in time.

"I do have one small request, if you would be so kind."

Murphy nods encouragingly, nudging him to continue.

"Take me outside sometimes. I almost never get to." He'd never blamed Harry, never thought he was deliberately limiting him, but it cannot be denied that he'd been confined to the same place without a change of scenery for a very long time. "If you do, you must be careful. You can't let anyone else see me. And of course you have to take _me _with you." He gives his skull a pointed look.

Murphy picks it up off the table and wrinkles her nose at it involuntarily. Having to lug that thing around wasn't exactly appealing. She wonders how Harry did it. The way he'd written of it, it was something supremely special. Of course, it housed his best friend in the whole world, naturally it wouldn't seem distasteful in the least for him to handle it. She sits down with it in her lap, examining the symbols on it, hesitantly drawing her fingers over it. Already, she's begun to consider the old ghost as a friend.

"Sure, I'll take you out sometimes. I don't live too far from the park, actually."

"That would be lovely."

From the threshold to the Other Side, Harry Dresden takes a fateful last look to his friends left on Earth. He'd had misgivings since he'd arrived, had an intense desire to stay. When he reached the gateway, a man addresses him.

"Harry Dresden...you died protecting your city from danger. For that, we will grant you a request for your afterlife." Most people given such a choice request that their loved ones they left behind may be happy again, or watched over. Others ask to be reincarnated as someone's child, or that their killer may meet justice. Harry sighs, as though thinking hard, although his mind is quite made up.

"I want to go back. I want to be with Bob. I can't just leave him. We could be ghosts together."

Of course, as Harry expected, his request is met with raised eyebrows. Still, he stands firm. All he wants is to move into Bob's skull and be dead with him.

For a moment, it looks like Murphy's offer might comfort the lonely ghost. He cannot feel her hands, of course, but from her halting touches he's able to get a taste of her soul. Beneath her troubled spirit, he senses her genuine goodness, her loyalty. It reminds him too much of his former charge, his beloved. Simply having someone else handling his prison, that she's now its rightful keeper, dredges up too much feeling. He turns his head away and sobs, remembering again he'll never feel those things from Harry again.

Then Murphy sees it...a sparkle of yellow light and cloud of white smoke pouring out of the skull's eye socket. The smoke touches the floor and takes shape. Just as it's taken a form she recognizes, it raises a finger to its lips, pointing significantly at Bob. Murphy stops herself from shouting out just in time. The ghost of Harry Dresden creeps up behind his old friend, the sound of his crying over him nearly breaks his heart. He reaches his hand out experimentally, afraid to go farther, afraid of being disappointed. Then, he places a hand on the older man's shoulder, and draws a sweet breath of triumph.

Without thinking, Bob places a hand over the one on his shoulder, squeezing it appreciatively. It doesn't even register that this is out of the ordinary until he hears that voice...

"It's all right, Bob. I'm back."

Bob gasps, spins around in place and stares! "Back? You came..._back?_ You were...?"

Harry nods with a grin, sliding his hand through the counter top to further prove his state.

Still staring with wide eyes, looking from their clasped hands and back up again. Bob grasps his lover by the cheeks, draws his face down and kisses him mightily, wrapping himself tightly around the recently deceased wizard. With a joyful whoop, Harry hugs him back, even lifts him up and spins him in place.

"Why on _Earth_ would you do something so stupid?" Bob demands to know after he's set down again. "You gave up...all that...for what?" His disapproval is simply for appearances; nothing could have pleased him more than to be reunited like this. But at what cost? He didn't think his conscience could take it, knowing he'd kept Harry back from...whatever came after. Bob's expression changes, looks closer to pity than anything.

Seeing how upset he's made his longtime companion, Harry feels the need to reassure him. "For a corner of your skull, and your heart?" He suggests, nuzzling their foreheads together before tilting his chin up for another kiss.

Bob winces, "Not very poetic, but good enough considering the source. You really mean it, you wanted to stay?"

"I wanted to stay here," He repeats. "And don't look so guilty, this was my choice."

"I just don't want you to regret it."

Tracing his beloved's bottom lip, filling them both with excruciating pleasure, Harry murmurs, "I was fortunate to have extricated myself." He just stares at him for the longest time, at his hands actually touching this man he'd yearned for all this time. How could he have chosen differently? How could anyone have expected him to?

Bob smiles broadly at this, remembering his own words following a brush with the Other Side. How glad he'd been to be home then! Bob reaches his arms around Harry's neck and kisses him again, trailing across his cheek and neck as well, looking too happy to speak.

They simply stand there, holding each other, thrilling quietly in their long sought-after embrace. As though he'd planned his every move years ago. Bob cuddles into the younger man's shoulder, breathing in his residual scent as Harry strokes his hair. _How could anything compare with this ?_ They both wonder.

Bob gives an odd thought to his reputation in his living days, a veritable ladies' man, now taking the typical female submissive posture. For centuries, he'd been considered outlandishly tall, called a long-legged snipe by his peers in his youth. Then Harry, the giraffe, finally dwarfed him. Since this thought amuses him so much, he figures it's worthy of sharing.

"Harry?" he begins, still rubbing his cheek against his jacket like a house cat loving its owner, "I'm not altogether sure how to do this properly, I've never _been _with anyone taller than me before."

Sure enough, Harry laughs, kissing the top of Bob's head and running his fingers through his hair. "I bet. Hope you don't mind."

Bob sighs contentedly, "Not at all." He looks up, looking so quietly pleased.

Murphy watches them, overjoyed to see Harry again despite his being a ghost, and to see Bob so happy. She brings a hand to her mouth and makes a small choking sound, drawing attention to herself.

"Hey, you hang onto that skull, it's very important," Harry reminds her. "You might not think it's pretty, but..." unable to resist, he gives Bob another lingering kiss, bringing languid smiles to both their faces as he nuzzles in for more. "It holds my most cherished treasure." Bob tsks at the flattery, brushing it aside bashfully.

"I will. Just have to figure out where I'll keep it."

She wonders whether those two dead sorcerers will ever be able to get their hands off of each other. _So that's what love looks like,_ she ponders with a sigh, unable to help feeling a touch envious. The way they touch each other swings between delicate brushes and all-consuming physical loving, clearly showing how long they'd wanted this. Murphy can even see the lingering hesitation in their faces, as though they expect to pass through each other any time. Then, as though reminded that they needn't fear this any longer, they dive in full force. It strikes her as sweet, tainted by long years of wanting.

"I'd really prefer it if it were not stationary. I'm bound to stay within a certain distance from it. Perhaps you could move it to various places in your residence," Bob requests.

"Just not your bedroom," adds Harry, getting a light slap from the ghost in question.

"I've wanted to do that for years," Bob admits with a leering expression. "Although I might miss walking through you to get your attention."

Harry backs one step away, scowling at the memory. "Come on, you haven't done that on purpose since I was a kid."

With a skyward roll of his eyes, Bob folds his arms and mutters, "That's what you think."

Again, it looks like they've forgotten all about Murphy, and she's perfectly fine with that. Watching their heartfelt reunion is an excellent spectator sport. She's glad now to know that Harry hadn't been so completely alone as she first thought, even if his only other companion was a ghost. Just from what little she's seen of these two together, they certainly strike her as an adorably mismatched couple. So different, yet so alike. Perfect. Just standing together, holding hands, chuckling together over that simple gift that Harry's death had granted them.

"Listen, we'd better get back to my place...if you're both coming?"

"Do you mind?" Harry asks.

Waving a hand in the air meaninglessly, she'll think about it tomorrow. "It's fine, just...I..."

"We'll be no trouble at all," he promises.

Murphy gives them both a doubtful smirk, "If you say so." Then without warning, she picks up the skull and heads for the door, yanking Bob along with her.

"Stop! Stop it! Miss Murphy!" Bob gasps, grasping at the invisible tether in protest.

She stops in her tracks, spinning around in alarm to see him nearly doubled over. Dresden is helping him up. "Did I hurt you?"

Bob straightens up, brushing his jacket in a decidedly miffed air. "Please don't drag me like that. Harry, I think we'd better..." he nods significantly at the skull.

"Oh, yeah. Right. How?"

The question surprises the old ghost, who'd done it a million times without thinking. "Well, I don't know! Just...go in." He sees the struggle written on his former master's face as he makes his first attempt to dematerialize. He's getting red in the face from the strain. "Stop trying so hard," Bob coaches. "You're making it difficult on yourself. Relax," he advises in a calming tone, rubbing his lover's shoulders. "You can do it. Just...whoosh!" He waves a hand vaguely.

Harry takes a deep breath and mists away, the last spark of him glimmers in the cracks. Bob leans down and speaks to what had once been his own mouth, in his old tone of former schoolmaster. "Well done, Harry. Very good." And with that, he follows.

Strange, now that the ghosts have vanished, Murphy is starting to feel odd again. She awkwardly shoves the grinning cranium into her large purse, hoping no one sees her carrying such a thing. She sets it carefully on the passenger seat, reaches in and gives it a pat. "You guys all right in there?"

She hears voices, they're talking to each other. "Wow, that feels nice," Harry whispers.

"You can feel her, too? Yes, she has a nicer feel to her than most others did. Present company excepted, of course."

"Thanks." Then he calls up, "Yeah, Murph, we're okay."

Bob's spirit cuddles close with a troubled sigh. "Harry?"

"Yeah, Bob?"

"You're white. Did you know that?"

"What?"

"Your smoke, when you vanished just then, was white."

Despite the monotonous delivery, Harry suspects something's upsetting him. "Is it? Huh."

Bob thinks, wondering why this seems so important to him, wondering why Harry doesn't seem to care or understand what it means. He feels a growing sensation of self-disgust as he recognizes this feeling as jealousy. Harry had selflessly thrown away his afterlife, just to spend it here with him, yet buried under his happiness at being reunited in this most perfect way, and his genuine and boundless love for the man who'd literally gotten into his head, is envy. The white smoke that was his lover's essence made Bob feel filthy and unworthy. It also hadn't escaped his notice that Harry, although he's chosen to 'move in' with him, isn't bound to the skull in the same way he is. He hadn't been pulled along when Murphy dragged him just then. Those facts glare at him as such obvious differences between them. He sighs.

"It means you're a pure spirit, you're free. You aren't damned like me. Harry...why tie yourself to my cursed old skull?"

"Because I love you. I wanted to. I want to be with you forever."

Touched by this adamant declaration, Bob whispers,"Why?"

"Because I don't care what color your smoke is, Bob."

"That's the sweetest thing anyone's ever said to me," is all he can say to that.

Murphy keeps glancing over at her purse, unable to help overhearing their conversation. She feels pity for Bob. He sounds so ashamed of himself, unequal to his "purer" companion. In the same way, she's quite proud of Harry for his assurance that it didn't make any difference to him, and to let him know that right away before any perceived inequality got between them.


	2. Chapter 2

Soon she's home once again; she takes off her coat and hangs up her purse on the hook near the door. Then she removes her highly unusual bequest. She taps on the top of it gently. "Okay, fellas, end of the line. You can come out if you want to."

Two pillars of smoke, white and black stream out and materialize. Murphy is suddenly aware that she hasn't had a man in her home in years, not since her ex-husband ceased to darken her door. "Uh, there's a guest room...?"

"Are you alone here?" Bob asks, examining the photographs on the wall depicting Lieutenant Murphy holding a young girl.

"I get my daughter, Anna, every other week. She's nearly ten. Is she allowed to see you?" It's one thing to house these spirits, it's quite another to hide things from her daughter. It would take some pretty big lies and weak excuses to cover up these two.

Bob considers, as though he may be thinking along the same lines. "Provided she can be discreet, I have no objection."

"Oh, she knows there are things you're not supposed to talk about. Her father helped there," Murphy huffs, getting a small degree of pleasure from mad-mouthing the man.

"I'm sure," Bob agrees as Harry nods in understanding.

Secrets were always familiar to him. The only person he'd ever felt wrong about constantly lying to was Murphy, and now she's in on it. Oh, the things he could tell her now!

"Thanks for everything, Murph, I wasn't sure they'd let me come back. All I'd hoped for originally was that you'd give Bob a good home, and be his friend."

"Hey, what's one more? It's not like either of you is going to cost me anything to keep." She turns to Bob, "And strange as it might be, I like you already."

The pale ghost flinches; no one's ever _liked _him in ages, apart from Harry. He stares, dumbfounded. "You do?"

"I can't say I've ever been friends with a ghost, but...I'd like to be."

Yet another pleasure long denied to the cursed spirit was that of companionship. His other masters would often summon him to perform or to obey similarly trivial demands, others demanded his esoteric knowledge, but he was never summoned for social reasons. Only Harry had drawn near him for the sake of friendship, a frightened orphan seeking comfort from a grouchy, cynical ghost. At the time, it had taken some mental gymnastics to come to terms with their relationship. It had been as though fate had provided two sad, lost loners with a friend when each had needed one the most. A friendship which in its adulthood blossomed into love. And now another person—a warm, living, normal person—wants to be his friend?

Bob stammers, nearly stricken speechless, "I...I don't know what to say. Thank you?"

Harry recognizes the turmoil within his companion and takes his hand again, giving it a squeeze, clapping his other hand on his shoulder. "Things are looking up, huh?" He whispers.

Bob breaks into an awkward smile, as though he can't process so many miracles in one day. His beloved returned from the dead to stay with him out of love, a new guardian of a completely different cloth, who desires his friendship. Friendship! Of all things. "My dear Miss Murphy, I'm certain we will be." The bond between them strengthens, he can feel it with his very essence. Hers feels like a cord of silk. Material soft, beautiful, and luxurious, yet when twisted tightly shows unexpected strength and resilience. That was what Murphy felt like.

"Good," Murphy smiles. "Look, it's been a long, tiring, and _very_ weird day. I have to get up at 6am, so I'm going to bed. I'm going to put this in the guest room if you'll follow me." She remembers to go at a slower pace so as not to end up dragging Bob again. It certainly looked uncomfortable. She sets the ghastly-looking thing on a bookshelf, faces them again, hoping for their approval of their accommodations. They thank her and she heads to bed.

Once she's gone, the ghosts look around. It's sparsely furnished, which is just as well since they don't need many home comforts at this point.

"We can set up the lab in here," Bob suggests, keen to get the place looking more like home as soon as possible.

"Something tells me Murphy isn't going to like that."

"Yes, perhaps you're right," he drawls. "Old habits die hard, I suppose. I can't imagine what we're going to do now." His fingers twitch irritably, itching for his musty old tomes and smoky gas burners.

Harry grins, "I'll see what I can do."

"Actually, it may be better if I asked her myself." Bob supposes thoughtfully, "Such a request would require a delicate hand. You, Dresden, are about as delicate as a rhinoceros in heat."

"Wow, glad I came back. I can't imagine missing out on this abuse," Harry grumbles, but knowing better than to take it personally. It falls right in with their usual pattern. They'd tapered off on the put-downs since being honest about their feelings, but..._old habits die hard._

"Even if we got all of that here, though, we can't handle any of it, we can't use it without hovering everything and that's a lot of work. And I don't think Murphy is sorceress material."

Harry's reminder had the opposite effect as intended. An interested expression crosses the smartly-dressed man's face, calculating... "Bob, don't even think about it. I checked, she doesn't have it. Besides, Murphy and magic don't go together."

With a heavy sigh of defeat, Bob paces, "All right, all right. But even just for atmosphere, it would compliment the new decor." He gestures to his skull.

Murphy had been on her way past their room to the bathroom when she hears a snippet of their discussion, particularly about Bob considering training her in wizardry. She groans silently, rolling her eyes, wondering just what she's gotten herself into. It couldn't hurt to let them have a few of their things, just to...darken up the room? It would make them feel more at home, and she'd been entrusted with their possessions anyway, so it shouldn't be a problem to get them.

"Well, I had a busy day, too, Bob. Life, death, life...I'm gonna turn in," Harry announces before misting away. Bob follows and the room is quiet again.

Sometime during the night, Bob feels restless. Since he hadn't been expressly banished to his skull, and had merely gone in of his own accord, he didn't need Murphy to release him. He walks through their bedroom door and looks in the living room. He begins writing in the air...

The next morning, Murphy rolls over, unsure of what roused her. She opens her eyes. Filling the room with soft golden light are the words "Good morning, Lieutenant Murphy" in an elegantly sloping hand., floating inches from her bed. Initially startled, she finds herself smiling at them. "Morning, Bob," she says in return. The words vanish and more float up at her, instructing her through her pre-work preening. As she gets downstairs, she finds another reminder near the fridge. "For God's sake, try to find something healthy." She gives a short chuckle at how her new ghost's tone is easily conveyed in written form. She can even imagine the look on his face.

She peeks into their room and sees the air glimmering with signs of a celebration. Bob's and Harry's names written together numerous times, last names interchanged, hyphenated, so many combinations, as though they were seeing which way looks better. Hearts and stars sprinkle golden dust from the walls and ceiling. She smiles, feeling as though she'd made the right choice in taking them in. Keeping her word, she moves the skull to the living room. While she isn't sure how far from it they'll be able to go, she hopes it will give them better access to the house, and they could even get back in their room if they wanted to.

As she's heading out the door, one last message floats up to her. "Have a nice day." Then- "Don't get killed," is scrawled in a familiar hand.

"I'll try not to, Harry."

Murphy goes about her day, while everyone around her are surprised by how unaffected she seems. Her regular freelance consultant dies at a crime scene and she looks perfectly normal. Some suppose she's glad to finally be rid of him. Some on the sidelines remark on how cold-hearted it seems to just get back to business like that. She could at least have the decency to look somber, but Lieutenant Murphy looks positively chipper. Amid the office mutterings and whisperings, it's clear she's definitely gone down in a lot of their estimations. Harry Dresden wasn't exactly a close friend of the force, but he at least made the appearance of doing what he could to help, he'd even died in the line of duty, trying to save others. Murphy's behavior, while businesslike, struck many as ultimately disrespectful.

Back home, around noon, Bob looks at a calender on the wall, this week is highlighted with Anna's name, starting today at 6. He hastily writes a reminder to his new mistress, squishes it down to a speck, and blows it away. It flies out the window and through the city. It zips into the police station and finds Murphy's desk. It unfurls with the reminder to pick up her daughter after work.

"Thanks," she whispers, and it swirls away discreetly.

Figuring she's on her lunch break, Bob chances sending another message. When it spreads itself out before her on her desk, she reads, "Might you be so kind as to pick up a few of our books and materials from home?" Not sure if she can answer, she hisses, "Later!" and the words vanish.

Harry spends the day restlessly pacing. Bob recognizes it all too well, recalling when he'd been recently killed, his early days as a ghost. The sudden feeling of uselessness sets in and makes one feel like a caged animal.

"Perhaps you should have gone on, dear," he tells him concernedly, gliding up behind him and rubbing his shoulders, still amazed at their new allowed closeness.

"Nah, I'm fine, bet it just takes getting used to, doesn't it?"

"It's not easy, and it won't happen any too soon. Just try to remain calm. It's one reason I wanted some of our effects here, for a sense of continuity." This does nothing to improve Harry's mood, and Bob is rapidly growing ill watching his incessant pacing. For once he's the stationary one. He'd always been the more active one of the pair. He wonders if Harry has noticed the change...

"Dresden," he drawls grumpily in his old school teacher tone, hoping to get his attention and make him stop. Then, in a warmer, more playful tone, "Harry...Bainbridge."

That name stops him in his tracks. Harry looks up at Bob, his mouth hanging open.

"Like it?"

With a light chuckle, Harry rubs his hand across his face, trying to look normal. "Not sure I could pull it off, but..."

"Yes, well, we'll work on that, shall we? In the meantime, try not to wear out Miss Murphy's carpet."

With a weak smile, Harry nods, eyes scanning the room for their skull. Ever since it had been stolen, he likes to keep it in view. Nice of Murphy to put it out in the open like that. Bob follows his line of vision, slightly confused.

"I still get bad dreams, when you were taken, only I never get you back. Terrible."

"Harry..." Bob soothes, cuddling in close. "You can't get rid of me that easily. I knew you'd come for me. Sorry for almost killing you."

"It's all right, Bob, it happens," he promises, hugging him tighter. "I think tipping Murphy and them off about how to find me when I was kidnapped makes us even."

"We do have a knack for heroics, don't we? At least with each other," Bob observes.

Then they pause, hearing a noise. They follow it back to Murphy's bedroom where her TV is on the cooking channel. Bob brightens up as it begins rerunning an old black and white Julia Child episode.

"Now she is a fine lady," he declares, as if daring to be opposed.

Harry laughs, "What, you're telling me you knew Julia Child?"

"Certainly. I might not have been able to fully benefit from her talents, but that doesn't change what a remarkable monument to womanhood she is."

"Was," Harry corrects, shocking Bob.

"What, she...? Oh..." he sighs is disappointment. "A fine lady," he repeats firmly. As the episode is introduced, Bob starts writing in the air again, rapidly copying down today's recipe as she delivers it.

"Bob, Murphy can't cook like that."

"If Julia can do it, our Murphy can do it. That's the whole point of the program, that's what she told me," Bob asserts steadfastly, not missing a line. He watches, adding to the notes as he goes. As the directions start coming faster, he switches to mystic runes for shorthand.

"So, what, was she one of your old flames?"

Bob looks scandalized, "I shouldn't need to remind you that I'm dead," he grumps. "And to insinuate that she'd be unfaithful to her husband is nothing short of defamation. I met her once, she was absolutely delightful. For that brief window, I'd forgotten what I was reduced to. She reminded me of my mother, if you must know."

"The bubbles in the world's champagne flute," Harry mockingly rhapsodizes.

"Precisely," Bob agrees in all seriousness, drinking in the show reverently, "Poor dear."

Once the whole thing is written down, he sends it floating down to the kitchen, he'd even included a shopping list of things she'd need.

Harry stands next to the wall, observing. "You're taking your new job seriously, aren't you?"

"What else would you suggest I do?" Bob gives the written instructions a look with a hopeful smile, "Besides it pleases her."

"You writing in the air? She likes that? I thought she hated magic."

Bob struggles a moment to explain, feeling very much as though he's back in the classroom with a student who cannot recognize the subtle nuances he's trying to illustrate. "She hates big, scary magic. This is little, useful magic."

With a bit of a grouchy expression, Harry asks, "So, she's made you into her personal supply of Post-It notes?"

Bob visibly wilts at the comparison, he'd had the impression he was helping his new mistress govern her life, which sounded as though it became horribly complicated at a moment's notice. He looks genuinely insulted, scowling, at the idea that Harry may be right.

The look on the old sorcerer's face brings Harry to his senses, "I'm sorry, okay? I didn't mean anything by it. It's what you can do. She doesn't need any mystical crap bogging down her life. It's great you can help her."

"I'm not really her set of Post-It notes, am I? I used to be a rather accomplished, not to mention powerful wizard. I was a necromancer!" He's looking quite self-conscious about his lover's assessment of his abilities.

"I know you were. You taught me everything I know. Forget what I said, it was mean, all right? I guess I just can't think of what I can do around here. Don't let me ruin it for you."

Bob looks up at him sympathetically. "It's hard at first, I know all too well."

"Is this why you were always so jumpy and agitated, running around, gesturing wildly?" Harry sums it up with a colorful impression of his companion's mannerisms.

"Maybe," he shrugs, "Perhaps around the living I have to make a bigger show of it, to prove I still exist. You probably just need a rest. I was only able to be out for short periods at first, it was too much all at once."

Harry pouts, tracing Bob's bottom lip with his thumb, "You coming to bed?" They share a smile and mist away together.

Bob's suggestion turned out to be spot-on. After a good long timeout in his skull, he and Harry feel better. Harry is noticeably less surly and the feeling in the home is quite cozy again. The air is hung with messages and reminders in both of their handwriting, they'd been having fun mixing in ones meant to make Murphy laugh with the ordinary notes. They had to just to break up the monotony and to see if she's really paying attention.

Around 6:30, the door handle turns and a girl runs in, sees a strange man in the hall and glittering gold messages floating everywhere. Both faces become drawn and stunned, as Harry slaps his forehead. He'd completely forgotten about Murphy bringing her daughter home for the week.

"Mom! Mom, come quick!"

"Dammit!" Harry hears Murphy mutter. She'd clearly forgotten to tell Anna about her new roommates. She walks through the door and looks wonderingly all around. "Oh, wow, guys!" she gasps as the memos float down to her eye-level, vying for her attention. She wanders into the living room, where they'd simply drawn beautifully complex patterns over the TV and furniture. Her friends must've been bored, she surmises. Anna, on the other hand, is frozen in place, waiting for her mom to tell her what's going on.

"Just wipe through them when you're done," Harry tells her. "Just don't touch the one in the kitchen until you copy it down on paper."

Murphy still is looking in all directions, amazed. "Anna, this is Harry, he's a friend of mine," Murphy tells her.

"How did you do all this?" the girl asks, still sounding stunned.

Harry grins, adopts a few of his father's old stage magician gestures, "Magic!"

"There's no such thing as magic," Anna replies sadly, sounding like she's repeating something she's heard many times before.

Looking embarrassed, Murphy tries to help the situation, "Sweetheart, it's not polite to contradict someone."

"Yeah, people really hate that," Harry agrees pointedly.

That shuts Murphy up. She leads them into the kitchen where she sees the skull leering at her. Anna jumps back in fright.

"Mom, what are you doing with that thing?!" She hides behind her mother with a shudder. "What does all of this mean?"

Her mother is already used to the thing, her attention is drawn to the rather complicated, and not entirely in English, recipe drawn up near the stove. "Is that a hint?" she asks, gesturing at it.

"It was Bob's idea."

"I can't cook like that."

"Bob says if Julia can do it, you can do it. He got a little carried away near the end there, but he'll translate if you can't read his shorthand."

Looking at the rotating elemental symbols and strange runes floating amid mundane cooking instructions, Murphy nods silently. Meanwhile, Anna is examining the skull up close.

"What is this?"

Silently asking permission from Murphy, and getting it, Harry adopts a spooky tone. "That skull once belonged to a real live wizard! A thousand years ago, in England, lived Hrothbert of Bainbridge. Now Hrothbert was great, and powerful, and handsome. But...he did some bad things." Feeling a little uncomfortable telling the story, and hoping Bob doesn't mind, he continues. "He was in love with a sorceress, but she died. So he wanted to bring her back. He did, but it was decided that it was wrong for him to do. So to punish him, they cut off his head! And they put a curse on him, that he's to live forever as a ghost, always bound to his own skull." He finishes, and the girl looks to her mother with wide eyes. "Now he belongs to your mother, and he'll live here from now on"

"You're making that up! Mom? Was that story true?"

Murphy nods, looking a bit green. "He's right, sweetie, it's true." She sees Harry nodding towards the skull, clearly asking something of her. Finally it sinks in, he wants her to summon him properly as part of the show. Raising her hand theatrically, she says "Hrothbert of Bainbridge, I summon you!"

With an unusually large and impressive pillar of smoke and flame, Bob appears, looking rather put out. "Now, was all that really necessary? My own tragic past trotted out like a ghost story told around the camp fire?" He towers frighteningly over the child, making his voice deep and dramatic. "Do you believe in ghosts now?" Anna nods jerkily, pressing into her mother for protection. Murphy has no idea why he's being like this and is beginning to regret inheriting him. Then, his act drops, his demeanor shifts and he gives her an uncertain smile. "Well, I think we'll get along, then."

Anna and her mom breathe a sigh of relief. Murphy raises a hand as if to swat Bob on the shoulder but draws back, remembering. "You...Did you have to scare her half to death?"

Bob ignores the question and smiles down at the girl, "She's about the same age you were, Harry, when we first met. Remember?"

Harry grimaces, hands in his pockets, "Yeah, and you're still cranky. Not much has changed. Anna, this is Bob. He's a bit of a grouch but he's been my best friend since I was a kid. He won't bite."

Murphy takes some steadying breaths, then gestures behind her at his writing. "And I can't even read half of that." Another glance and she allows, "It's beautiful, but..."

"Oh, yes. Well, you know how they rattle off those recipes so fast you can't possibly copy it down quickly enough. I took a few shortcuts. I'll help you translate if you promise you'll try it. It looked quite enjoyable on the program." That's the second time she's called his writing beautiful, he looks at Harry significantly, gesturing to the writing in the air, mouthing "Told you She likes it."

"Just don't say anything against his best girl," Harry mocks lightly. "Him and Julia go way back."

Murphy smiles at this, "I always liked her, too. I never tried anything from her shows, but...I'll give it a try. Thank you."

"Your loyal servant," Bob bows. "Sorry, dear," he adds, turning to Harry.

Anna is looking up between the two men, "So do you both live here now?"

"Yeah, and you know what? I'm a ghost, too!" Harry proclaims, demonstrating by stepping through the kitchen counter, turning around, and coming back. The girl gasps, backs up, and passes through Bob with a loud shriek.

"Careful, careful. Easy does it," Bob coaxes. Let's get a bit more in the open, shall we, madam?" he gestures to the skull. "If you would be so kind."

Murphy obeys, picking up the skull and carrying it into the living room with her crying daughter clinging to her. Bob and Harry scuttle out, giving the two living residents plenty of room.

Harry still looks disapproving of how Bob introduced himself, but spoils it by trying not to laugh. "That was great, Bob, that was better than when we first met."

Bob shrugs with a broad smile, "Well, I wasn't used to kids when I got you. It's amazing we got off on even close to the right foot. If memory serves, I wasn't _exactly_ approachable."

"Well, I didn't let a cranky old ghost keep me from knowing a friend when I saw one," Harry assures him, pulling him in for a hug. They've got years of backpay with interest to work through. How many times had they wanted to, _needed_ to give each other a hug, but had been unable to? Hundreds, easily.

Bob purrs pleasurably, cuddling in, "I'll never get used to this, never." They completely ignore the fact they're being scrutinized. Harry brings Bob's chin up and they share a soft kiss, touching each others' faces as though they can't get enough of the feel of each other.

"Mom, those two dead guys are kissing," Anna whispers loudly. Murphy shushes her and tries not to stare at them. "Why are they doing that?"

"Because these two dead guys love each other," Harry loudly hisses back.

A sparkling memo floats down to be read, one of the joke ones, reminding Murphy to shave the dog on Tuesday. Anna reads it and laughs, mainly because they don't even have a dog She reaches towards it and prods the word "dog" with a finger. She traces it gently and it changes shape, turning into a drawn dog's face. All three adults stare at her.

"How old are you, Anna?" Bob asks gently.

"Nine, going on ten."

"Nine," he repeats thoughtfully. "That's about when it starts to show. What else can you do?"

At this request, the girl looks frightened. "I'm not supposed to."

"Go on, it's all right." Looking at Anna reminds him of Harry when he first arrived at the mansion: uncertain, shy, unable to believe that doing magic was allowed. He looks up at the child's mother, demanding, "With all due respect, madam, hold your daughter for god's sake!"

"Why?"

"Because I can't...and she needs it. Have you any idea..." he trails off, looking up at Harry, who stands off to the side, scuffing his shoe, trying not to be overwhelmed by deja vu. Murphy kneels down and holds Anna close.

"It's all right, sweetie, everything is all right." She looks behind her as Harry draws near, flicking her glance between the two ghosts. "What...?"

"She's like us," Harry pronounces clearly, as though it were the most ordinary thing in the world. "Your daughter, Anna...is like us."

Murphy shakes her head firmly, looking desperately from one to the other. Bob grazes her cheek, chilling her, but she faces him obediently. He stands, looking firmly down at her. "I do have some experience in educating...children of magical blood."

At this, Murphy stands up abruptly, "Magical? Bob, Harry...this is some kind of joke, isn't it? My...Anna isn't..."

"Why not, milady?" Bob asks smoothly, crisply. "She's demonstrated the gift. A small display, of course, but she's quite young. I'm sure that in time she will progress at a normal rate, just like Harry did."

"Thanks to your excellent tutelage, of course" Harry adds.

His praise takes Bob by surprise, who's caught short. "Oh. Thank you."

"Your faithful student," he bows shortly, with just a hint of sarcasm.

Bob paces the room, passing through whatever furniture is in his way, he'll get used to the new layout but for now he's recovering old tracks. "Anna, can your father do things? Move things without touching them, make things happen?"

"Sometimes," she admits.

"Sometimes," Bob repeats, "But is it...deliberate or is more like an accident, like he loses control and _bang!_"

Anna nods, "The second one, but I've seen it happen."

"How long were you two married?" Harry needs to know.

"Two years," Murphy recalls, addressing the floor as memories surface.

"You'd think this kind of thing would show itself pretty regularly. You didn't notice anything?" Then he thinks back...even in the times when she'd seen and experience magic close at hand, times he'd even tried to explain to her, she'd put the blinders on and deny everything. "You chose to ignore it." He hits upon it firmly, looking thoroughly disappointed in his friend. "It didn't add up or make sense to you, so it couldn't be happening. Right?"

Murphy has gone still and silent, looking as though her world is falling apart. She looks between the ghosts and her daughter. "You're right. You're right. But don't you think for one second, you smug spook, that it's why we got a divorce." She looks close to tears now, sinking down into a chair with her face in her hands. Harry has to stop himself from trying to touch her, but still stands behind her.

His tone changes, more comforting, the bite of accusation is gone. "I never said it was. You obviously had your differences, and that's fine. He can't have been too bad a guy, or you wouldn't let him see Anna nearly as often. It happens. Nobody is saying that magic pulled you apart."

With an indulging look, she gazes up at Harry and Bob, "I...I, uh..." she clears her throat to steady herself as she admits, "I like yours better."

Bob stands before her now, his hands moving like an orchestra conductor. "Madam, if you would allow me, I would take your daughter on as a student. She has the gift, she must be trained properly if she's going to learn to use it And she must learn to use it, or she'll be like her father, having accidents all the time. That, among other things, is a security risk. I would _like_ to teach her."

"Like you did with Harry?" she asks, looking to the other man briefly before turning back to him.

"Hey, am I being used as an example or a warning?" Harry wonders aloud, looking between his friends.

Bob smiles over at him encouragingly, "We're not always picking at your faults, Harry. You're a fine example."

"Yeah, of 'what not to do.' Remember?"

Until now, Bob had never considered how truly disturbed and ashamed Harry was by his reputation. What can he say to set the man's mind and soul at ease? "Do you judge me by my past, knowing what I did? Do you judge me solely by my mistakes, my transgressions?"

"No, that's a horrible thing to say," Harry affirms, looking disgusted at the thought. Bob is his best friend, his mentor, the man he loves. "You're more than that."

Bob nods firmly, "Precisely, Harry. As are you. Your only risk in this case is in setting the bar too high."

Harry sighs, relieved, feeling as though he's been forgiven. He'd been carrying that weight around with him for a long time. He kneels down in front of Anna, "So what do you say? Can Bob here teach you magic?"

Anna looks up at her mother, then back at the pale ghost of a wizard. Murphy still looks uncertain, even a little frightened.

"Don't-! Don't...take her from me," she begs, keeping a firm hold of her daughter. Everything is changing so fast, it's all closing in on her.

"Miss Murphy, I have no intention of taking her from you, or indeed taking her anywhere. You'll be here with her the whole time, I promise. You can even observe her lessons if you wish."

This seems to comfort Murphy, and she relinquishes her grip on the girl. "Really?"

"Provided you can be discreet," he tells her, echoing his choice of words from last night, getting a watery smile from the accused.

Anna speaks up finally, "Are you really going to teach me magic? Is it hard?"

"Anything worth learning is hard at first," Harry tells her, speaking from experience. "But you won't find a better teacher than Bob. He taught me everything I know."

"And I still know more than that," Bob observes dryly, gently ribbing his former student. Then he turns back to his mistress. "You'll need to get our books and things if we're going to do this properly. Take us along with you and we'll show you what to bring back. Now don't be frightened. Everything is all right. Harry and I give our word. Now, you might attract a visit from a few of our...acquaintances, but hopefully they won't be too upset, all things considered. I'll take care of everything." He stops right there, pausing to step in her shoes for a moment. He sighs and adopts a more sympathetic tone. "Don't look at me like that," he asks, seeing a strange, soft look creep into her eyes. "Things aren't that bad, surely. Don't worry, Harry and I won't let anything happen to you."

"No offense, but you're dead," she reminds him bluntly. "How can you help if someone tries to..."

"No one is going to try to do anything. She's properly supervised, out of prying eyes, she came by the gift naturally, you both have already seen things. It's too late for the High Council to bother us now," Bob promises, hoping that it's true.

It seems to work, Murphy nods and stands back up. "Fine, you can teach her. Just...nothing dangerous, all right?"

Harry and Bob exchange looks, wondering what qualifies as dangerous. "Harry, why don't you stay here with Anna and get her ready; Murphy can take me down to our place and we'll gather our supplies." He turns to Murphy, adding, "We'll get you in touch with our usual provider. She only delivers on Wednesdays, and you really need to win her over, my dear." With that, he hops into his skull expectantly. Murphy stands there with her jaw hanging loose.

"What, right now? I just got home! And...all of this!" She gestures wildly at his glittering messages and reminders still floating around the room, waiting to be tended to.

With a swirl of smoke and flame, Bob reappears, "Fine, fine. I was just anxious to get started."

"It's okay, Bob," Anna offers, "I have homework anyway." And she leaves for her room.

Now that it's just the grownups again, they're quiet, each of them processing all that had just happened. "I don't know if I can take much more of this, Harry," Murphy whines in her old pet tone she uses just on him.

"Sure you can. It's actually a good thing we're here. Murph...her abilities, they would've manifested themselves either way. The only difference is, now you have someone to teach her to control it, to do something useful. That's good, right?" She thinks about it, then nods reluctantly.

She makes her way back into the kitchen, gesturing to the symbols floating in the air. "So, Bob, translate this for me."

It wasn't often that Harry actually commanded Bob to do anything while he belonged to him, besides getting in his skull, so both men involuntarily flinch at the order. With those two occupied, Harry retreats to the skull for some quiet time. In another hour, Bob joins him.

"Got enough room, Bob?"

Again, the older ghost snuggles in cozily, "I'll let you know if you spread out too much."

"What were the odds of that, though? Murphy's own kid having the gift, and her not even knowing about it?"

"Oh, she knew about it. It terrified her. Probably why your relationship with her was always so strained. It could have been easier, if she'd given it half a chance instead of closing her eyes and putting her hands over her ears."

"Good thing she's got you, you can at least put a respectable face on all this hocus-pocus."

Bob chuckles at the irony, "Considering I'm serving the longest life sentence possible, I wonder how respectable I am."

"Hey, at least you did what you did for good reason."

"Justin would have killed you, you acted in self defense. I committed crimes against nature and humanity-"

"For love. I told you, Bob, I don't care what color your smoke is."

Both ghosts are quiet, both feel as though their crimes are forgiven, at least in eyes of the only one who matters to them, and both rest peacefully.

That night, Anna is examining the rune-etched skull, turning it over in her hands. "Are they in here, Mom?"

Murphy looks around for any sign of them,"They must be. They're probably sleeping, don't bother them now."

"Are they always going to be here?" Despite their frightening introduction, she's taken to them both already. This is helped in not a small way by their promise to teach her magic. They must be safe, her mom talks to them as though they're old friends.

Murphy smiles, "Whether we like it or not. Harry died yesterday, he left me Bob's skull in his will, so he'd have a good home and wouldn't be all alone. Then he decided he couldn't leave him behind, and so he came back to be with him."

"They're like, super-best friends," Anna says decidedly.

Remembering Harry's and Bob's rather intimate behavior together, Murphy can't think of a better word for it at the moment. "They are. They love each other very much. Okay, pumpkin, say good night to them and scoot off to bed."

Anna kisses the top of the skull, "Good night, Bob, goodnight, Harry! You're gonna teach me to be a sorceress tomorrow, remember?"

"We remember, Anna. Good night," Harry calls out.

Late that night, Bob wafts out again and begins writing out the morning's notes for his new owner, this time including a few for his young charge. Knowing how difficult it is to get children to do things, he casts them in a positive and hopefully more enjoyable light...

When her alarm goes off, the first thing the girl sees is a message from one of her new ghostly tutors. "Good morning, Anna. A sorceress rises with the sun to greet the dawn. Draw strength from the first rays." Another floats out near the bathroom, "A sorceress must be clean and presentable, they're sorely misrepresented. Give them a good face out there."

As Murphy gets her day started, she sees another note hovering near her daughter's backpack. "The Wise attend to their lessons with an eager and ready mind. Learn all you can." She has to smile, feeling as though her new friend is doing what he can to take care of them both. She sees a message in Harry's hand, wishing her a good day and cautioning her to be careful. She finds the skull sitting on the end table and gives it a kiss, whispering "Thank you."

That night after work, Murphy shoves Bob's skull into her bag, and the three of them head down to the office previously used by Harry Dresden, Wizard for Hire. Harry shows her how to get into the secret lab where their more valuable materials are. She looks all around, envisioning them turning their guest room into a copy of this. She catches the look at the two ghosts, looking around with a sense of relief to be home. They like it here, they miss it.

They get back home and she and Anna start setting up the guest room. Already, it's looking more like their old lab than anything. She finds herself envisioning these friends of hers leading her only daughter down the same path, into the gloom and dust and secrets, of this other world she's not allowed to mention or completely know about.

"She'll be okay, Murph."

Anna runs in and starts looking around the room delightedly. There's a desk and a blackboard, stacks of moldering old grimoires and scrolls, curious instruments and rows of glass vials of ingredients, waiting to be put to use. Her eyes shine like stars, and Murphy sees then how the environment seems to suit her.

"You be good for your teachers. Dinner's at 7." She turns to the two newly nominated professors, "Don't make a mess, huh?"

Harry grins over at Bob, both men are looking quite satisfied with how things have come to pass. "And we were wondering what we'd do with ourselves."

"Yes Now hush, you might learn something." Bob replies with a badly suppressed smile. "Now, class, come to order. Today we will be lecturing on some basic principles of sorcery and the magical realm..."


End file.
